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Cor. What, what, what ! I shall be lov'd, when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd Your husband so much sweat.-Cominius, Droop not;-adieu :--Farewel, my wife! my mother! I'll do well yet. -Thou old and true Menenius, Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, And venomous to thine eyes.—My sometime general, I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hard’ning spectacles ; tell these sad women, 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, As 'tis to laugh at them.- My mother, you wot well, My hazards still have been your solace : and 30 Believ't not lightly (though I go alone,
I Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen) your
Will, or exceed the common, or be caught
Vol. My first son,
Cor. O the gods !
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send
Men. That's worthily
foot. Cor. Give me thy hand:--Come.
A Street. Enter SICINIUS, and BRUTUS, with an
Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no
further. The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided
In his behalf.
Bru. Now we have shewn our porver,
Sic. Bid them home :
Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS.
Here comes his mother.
Sic. Let's not meet her.
Bru. They have ta’en note of us :
o'the gods Requite your love!
Men. Peace, peace! be not so loud.
Nay, and you shall hear some. Will you
(To BRUTUS. Vir. [To Sicin.) You shall stay too: I would, I
had the power
To say so to my husband.
Sic. Are you mankind ?
Vol. Ay, fool; Is that a shame Note but this
Sic. O blessed heavens !
Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words ;
Sic. What then?
Vir. What then?
the wounds that he does bear for Rome ! Men. Come, come, peace.
Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country,
Bru. I would he had.
Bru. Pray, let us go.
Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone ::
As far as doth the Capitol exceed
have banish’d, does exceed you all. Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you.
Sic. Why stay we to be baited
Vol. Take my prayers with you.-
Men. You have told them home, And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup
with me? Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, . 130 And so shall starve with feeding.-Come, let's go : Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come, Men. Fie, fie, fie!
Between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman, and a
Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me: your naine, I think, is Adrian.